


When You Wish Upon a Star

by romanticalgirl



Category: Peter Pan & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bestiality, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:22:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a full moon in Neverland</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Wish Upon a Star

**Author's Note:**

> Written for thebonesofferalletters in the [Queer Werewolf Ladies Commentfic Fest](http://gorgeousnerd.dreamwidth.org/1839580.html)

Wendy knows better than to follow Tinkerbelle. It’s disaster waiting to happen. You’d think she’d have learned by now, but something about her always makes Wendy want to go where she leads. She flits and flickers between boughs and branches, and Wendy’s usually a mess when they get where they’re going – dress snagged and askew, hair falling in her face and leaves and pine needles everywhere.

Tink always takes her somewhere new though, somewhere on the island that no one else seems to know about, not even Peter. There was the glade with the fairy ring and the heavy ripe fruit that she made Tink taste before she would. There was the cave full of sparkling gems and animals with large eyes that seemed more afraid of her than she was of them. It was their little secret, a sisterhood that slipped past the jealousy somehow.

Tonight Wendy’s dress is torn, a large rip caused by a rock as she’d slipped down the hill. There had been a thunderstorm so the grass was wet, the ground slick and muddy. Tink is floating in the middle of a clearing. The sky is filled with clouds, but they’re slipping away in gray strips from the moon.

“What are we doing here, Tinkerbelle?” Wendy keeps her voice hushed. She’s never sure what wonders await, never sure what dangers there might be. “What will you show me this time?”

Tink shrugs and pixie dust falls from her shoulders with a soft tinkling chime. Sometimes Wendy wonders if the dust just works for flying or if it has some other magical properties. She’s tempted to keep some in a jar and test it some day, but she’s afraid of Tink finding out and punishing her. It seems a bit ridiculous to be afraid of someone – something – a tenth of her size, but she’s seen Tinkerbelle angry.

Tinkerbelle looks up at the sky and Wendy follows her gaze upward. The last of the clouds dissipate and the full moon makes it seem like daylight in the clearing. “I don’t understand. What am I looking for?” She looks back down and Tinkerbelle is gone. In her place is a full sized wolf with a blonde swath of fur on its forehead and a green hue to its white fur. Wendy wants to scream, but her voice is caught in her throat. 

Instinct kicks in, but before she can turn and run, the wolf has her pinned to the ground, teeth bared right above her. Wendy’s heart is pounding in her chest, and she’s sure the only thing anyone can hear is the racing beat of her heart. Slowly, the wolf pulls back slightly, lips uncurling and covering the fangs. Wendy manages a shaky breath as the wolf tilts its head and then leans in again and snaps at the air just above Wendy’s nose.

This time Wendy does manage a scream and wriggles out from under the wolf, scrambling back toward the edge of the clearing. The wolf is on its back, wriggling in the mud and grass. Wendy plans to stand and run when she realizes the wolf is...

Laughing.

At her.

“Tinkerbelle!” Wendy knows a lady doesn’t shout, but all of the little pranks – being stuck with a needle, being led down the wrong path, being sacrificed to _pirates_ \- come to a head and Wendy stalks over to the wolf and nudges it with her toe. It’s not a kick. A lady certainly doesn’t kick. “You stop this _right_ this instant.”

The wolf is on its feet immediately, the fur now matted with mud and leaves. Wendy imagines they look very similar at this point. 

“I’ve had quite enough of this. Turn back now. It wasn’t funny at all.” The wolf – Tinkerbelle – stalks toward Wendy once again, but Wendy holds her ground this time. She places her hands on her hips and shakes her head. “And don’t you growl at me.”

She doesn’t growl. Instead she darts in closer and snatches the edge of Wendy’s dress with her teeth, tugging at it so the rip grows larger. Wendy grabs for the fabric, but it’s too late and she’s left in nothing more than the tattered remains of her blue gown. 

“Oh! How _dare_ you! That was my best nightdress!”

Tinkerbelle shakes her head from side to side, the blue material whipping all around her. It would be funny if Wendy weren’t quite so put out.

“Tinkerbelle! You stop this this instant!”

She drops the fabric and pounces at Wendy, knocking her to the ground once more. She backs off as Wendy raises herself up on her hands, fingers squelching in the mud. She knows she’s a fright, but she’s no longer afraid.

Tinkerbelle tilts her head and then leans in, nudging at Wendy’s ankle with her snout. It tickles, the huff of breath hot against her skin. When Wendy doesn’t react, Tinkerbelle moves closer, nudging the underdress further up Wendy’s leg. A different kind of heat pools in Wendy’s stomach as the blonde length of hair falls against her skin as well. 

“W-what...what are you doing, Tinkerbelle?”

This time the nudge of Tinkerbelle’s nose is followed by a soft, quick flick of her tongue, slightly rough and dry on Wendy’s shin. Wendy gasps and shivers, licking her lips. Tinkerbelle raises her head and meets Wendy’s eyes. There’s something familiar there, even though there’s something primal mixed in with it. Or maybe Wendy can just see it now that Tinkerbelle’s eyes are bigger, deeper. 

Wendy lets out a shaky breath and licks her lips again. She knows this feeling. She’s felt it before during the teas her mother has made her sit through, the boring hours she’s passed wondering what it would be like to go up to her room with Cicely or Amanda and lie on her bed while the boys were out and tell each other whispered secrets and hold hands and talk about kissing boys while she thought about not kissing boys at all. It’s the same feeling she felt when she was underneath the table hiding and one of Mother’s friends had sat down completely unlike a lady, legs spread beneath the cloth and her dress falling apart at the base showing delicate feet slipped free of tight shoes, shimmering stockings and soft petticoats. Wendy had dared to touch that night, press her face lightly against the rustle of cloth.

“T-T-Tinkerbelle. I...” She doesn’t know the words. Doesn’t know what to say or how she might even say it at all. She’s never imagined this. Never imagined any of this, but this most of all. With a thick swallow, Wendy reaches down with one of her muddy hands, fingers dirtying the white dress further as she lifts it up to her waist, punching it there. 

Tinkerbelle growls low in her throat and Wendy has to bite back the sound that threatens to escape her. She stays perfectly still save for the trembling in her hands as Tinkerbelle moves a few feet forward, her hips swaying in the rangy way of wolves. She licks again, this time at the inside of Wendy’s thigh and Wendy gasps, lightheaded. 

“O-oh.” Her elbows give and she goes down onto them, her hands no longer capable of supporting her. She can see Tinkerbelle still though not as well, so she spreads her legs wider, forcing the skirt higher on her thighs, but no longer blocking as much of her vision. Wendy’s breathing hard, unsure and uncertain and positive she wants Tinkerbelle to touch her, to lick her in places Wendy’s very careful not to think about anywhere but the few times she’s alone in her bath, the places she touches at night while she buries her face in her pillow so John and Michael won’t hear a thing.

Tinkerbelle advances, baring her teeth just a bit. For a moment, there’s a sudden fear that Tinkerbelle will bite her, but then she feels hot breath and slick teeth and hears the rip of fabric. Tinkerbelle tosses her head and Wendy sees the slip of white fall to the ground. She’s exposed now, open. She closes her eyes and her head falls back, incapable of watching as the heated huffs of breath dance across her skin. 

She feels wet – she is wet – and Tinkerbelle’s tongue hasn’t even touched her. This is how it’s felt when she’s pressed fingers inside herself and imagined the terribly lovely school teacher who taught them one summer taking Wendy to the lake and laying her out under a tree and sliding her hand up Wendy’s skirt. This is how it’s felt, only it’s better, unimaginally better as Tinkerbelle’s nose slides against the downy hairs between Wendy’s legs and then her long tongue slips into Wendy’s folds.

Wendy cries out softly, arching off the ground. Tinkerbelle growls again and then licks, not stopping this time. Her tongue is like velvet rubbing against Wendy’s body, and yet it’s rough and hard too, demanding. It slips between Wendy’s skin and inside her and Wendy’s not sure if the wetness is hers or from Tinkerbelle’s tongue. 

She can smell it, like heat on the air, and she knows it’s her. Knows that’s how she smells, knows that Tinkerbelle’s nose is full of her scent. Knows, somehow, that now Tinkerbelle can forever find her. Knows that she’s imprinted in Tinkerbelle’s mind forever. That thought, for some reason, is the one that pushes Wendy to the edge, and she stays there, hovering endlessly as Tinkerbelle’s tongue is suddenly focused, lapping and licking and growling against the hard nub between Wendy’s legs, the one that she uses to give herself pleasure. It keeps building and building and building until Wendy can’t stand it any more and she breaks, her whole body wracked with something that feels like an explosion inside of her, stars behind her eyes like miniature universes being born.

When she opens her eyes, Tinkerbelle is over her. The fur around her mouth is dripping, and Wendy knows that’s from her. Tinkerbelle rubs her snout against Wendy’s chin and then licks her face. Wendy’s lips fall open on instinct and then Tinkerbelle’s tongue is in her mouth, her tail whipping between Wendy’s legs as she licks inside and Wendy can taste herself. It’s better than when she’s licked her own fingers then said prayers for forgiveness, even though she knows it’s the same. Only it’s not, because now it’s Tinkerbelle in her mouth as well.

“Good girl,” Wendy whispers, smoothing her hand against the warm fur of Tinkerbelle’s side. “Beautiful girl.” She closes her eyes and Tinkerbelle settles half on her and half against her. They breathe in unison and, given how many wonderful things can happen in Neverland, Wendy wonders if the moon might stay full for days.


End file.
